tail of his very extraordinary life, of the military actions he had a part in, and the characters of the generals and ministers he had known. 'Montesquieu often recalled to mind those conversations, and related many passages of them to his friends.

- From Venice he went to Rome. In this ancient capital of the world, which is still so in some respects, he particularly attended to that by which it is at present distinguished, the works of Raphael, Titian, and Michael Angelo. He had never particularly studied the fine arts; but the expression that shines forth in the master-pieces of that kind, never fails to strike every man of genius. Accustomed to attend to nature, he knows her when he sees her imitated; as a good likeness strikes all to whom the original is familiar.

After travelling through Italy, M. de Montesquieu went to Switzerland, and carefully examined the vast countries that are watered by the Rhine. There remained nothing more in Germany for him to see, for Frederick was not yet come to the crown. After staying some time in the United Provinces, which are an admirable monument of what industry can do, animated by the love of liberty, he came over to England, where he resided two years. He had nothing to regret, but that he did not come sooner; Locke and Newton were both dead. But he had often the honour to wait on their protectress, Queen Caroline, who cultivated philosophy on the throne, and had a just relish for M. de Montesquieu's conversation. He was equally well received by the nation, who in this instance did not want to have the example set them by the court. At

London he formed connections with men accustomed to meditation, who qualified themselves for great actions by study. From them he informed himself of the nature of the English government, and acquired a perfect knowledge of it. Germany, he said, was fit only to travel in, Italy to reside in, England to think in, and France to live in.

On his return to France, he retired for two years to his seat at la Brede, and put the last hand to his work, of the causes of the rise and fall of Rome, Sur la cause de la grandeur, & de la decadence des Romains, which appeared in 1734. It might justly have been intituled, The Roman History, for the use of Statesmen and Philosophers.

How much reputation soever he might have gained by this and his former works, he had as yet only cleared the way for a much greater undertaking, that which ought to immortalize his name, and render his memory respectable to future ages. He had long before this time formed the design of it: he had meditated on the execution of it for twenty years, or rather his whole life was one continued meditation. He first made himself, as it were, a stranger in his own country, that he might know it better. He next visited Europe, and with the deepest attention studied the characteristics of the different nations by which it is inhabited. That famous island, which glories so much in its laws, and makes such bad use of them, was to him, in this long tour, what the isle of Crete was formerly to Lycurgus; a school where he improved in knowledge, without approving of the whole. In fine, he had examined and judged nations and eminent men that no longer exist, but in the annals of the world. Thus he

gradu.

gradually rose to the highest title a wise man can arrive at, that of legislator of nations.

If he was animated by the im. portance of his subject, he was discouraged by its extent: he abandon. ed and resumed it several times; and at length, encouraged by his friends, he mustered all his strength, and gave the public his Spirit of Laws. Among the authors by whom he was assisted, and from whom he borrowed some of his sentiments, the principal are the two of deepest meditation, Tacitus and Plutarch: but though a philosopher who reads two, may dispense with many others, Montesquieu neglected or slighted none that could be of use. The Spirit of Laws discovers im. mense reading and the judicious use which the author made of the prodigious mass of materials, will appear still more surprizing, when it is known that he was almost whol. ly deprived of sight, and obliged to make use of other people's eyes. Though M. de Montesquieu did not long survive the publication of his Esprit des Loix, he had the sa.. tisfaction to see the beginning of its effects upon the French nation: the natural love of the French to their country, turned to its proper object; a taste for commerce, agriculture, and the useful arts, beginning to spread throughout that kingdom, and that general knowledge of the principles of government, which renders the people more attached to what they ought to love.

Nevertheless a multitude of pieces appeared in France against his book. The anonymous author of a periodical work, who imagined himself the successor of Paschal, because he succeeded to his opinions, thought to ruin M, de Mon

tesquieu, but was the occasion of new lustre being cast on his name, as a man of learning, by proyoking him to write a Defence of bis Spirit of Laws. This work may serve as a model, on account of the moderation, truth, and hu mour that appear throughout the whole of it. M. de Montesquieu could easily have rendered his adversary odious; but he chose rather to make him ridiculous, What adds to the value of this excellent piece, is, that the author, without thinking of it, has in it drawn a true picture of himself: those who knew him, imagine they hear him speak; and posterity, when they read his Defence, will see that his conversation was not inferior to his writings.

While the insects thus buzzed about, and molested him in his own country, M. Dassier, famous for his medals of illustrious men, went from London to Paris, 1752, to strike a medal of M. de Montesquieu. M. de la Tour also, an eminent painter, was very desirous to paint the author of the Spirit of Lars; but M. de Montesquieu constantly refused, in a polite manner, his pressing solicitations. M. Dassier met with the same difficulties at first: 'Don't you think (said he one day to Montesquieu), that there is as much pride in refusing my request, as there would appear in granting it? Disarmed by this pleasantry, he suffered M. Dassier to do what he pleased.

He was at last in peaceable possession of the glory he so justly acquired, when he was taken ill in the beginning of February. His health, naturally delicate, had long before begun to break by the slow and almost imperceptible effects of his close study, the chagrin given

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him on account of his work, and the multiplicity of company that crowded to him at Paris. His end was worthy of his life. Oppressed by grievous pain, and at a distance from a family he loved, he breath. ed his last with the tranquillity of a good man, conscious of having de voted his talents to the service of virtue and mankind. He died on the 10th of February, 1755, universally and sincerely regretted. "His virtues," says Lord Chester field, did honour to human na ture, his writings justice. A ⚫ friend to mankind,, he asserted 1 their undoubted and unalienable rights and freedom, even in his country, whose prejudice in mat. ters of religion and government he had long lamented, and en. deavoured (not without some success) to remove. He well knew, and justly cadmired, the happy constitution of this country, where fixed and known laws restrain monarchy from tyranny, and li. berty from licentiousness. His works will illustrate his name, and survive him as long as right reason, moral obligation, and the true spirit of laws shall be under stood, respected, and maintained.' With regard to his private life in company he was always pleasant and gay; his conversation, by the many men and nations he had coneversed with, was sprightly, agree. able, and instructive. It was abrupt, like his style, full of piquant sallies, without bitterness or satire. Nobody told a story with more life, readiness, and grace, and less formality: he knew that the con. clusion of a pleasant story is the chief point, and he hastened to it, and produced the desired effect, without having promised it. The pleasure found in his company

was not the effect of his temper and genius, but of a kind of regimen also, which he observed in his stu dies: though capable of deep and long-continued meditation, he ne ver exhausted his strength, but al ways quitted labour before he felt any sensation of fatigue.

Nothing does more honour to his memory than his economy; which was thought too great in an age of avarice and dissipation, when its motives were not perceiv. ed, nor, if perceived, could have been felt, Beneficent, and consequently just, M. de Montesquieu would take from his family nothing of what he gave to relieve the distressed, nor of the large expences occasioned by his long tra vels, the disorder in his eyes, and the printing of his works. He left to his children the inheritance of his father, without diminution, and without increase.

He married, in 1715, Jane de Lartigue, daughter of Pierre de Lartigue, lieutenant-colonel of the regiment of Maulévrier; by whom he had two daughters, and a son, who, by his character, his manners, and his writings, hath shewn him. self worthy of such a father.

We omitted to mention in its place, some of the author's less considerable works, which served him for relaxation. The most remarkable of these is the Temple de Guide, which appeared soon after the Lettres Persannes. In this piece he paints the delicacy and naivety of pastoral love, as it appears in a mind uncorrupted by the commerce of the world. He concludes in the preface, in which he represents the work as a translation from theGreek, with these words: If grave people should desire of me a less • frivolous work, I can satisfy them:

IT

T was the daily practice of that eminent physician, Dr. Boer. haave, through his whole life, as soon as he rose in the morning, which was generally very early, to retire for an hour to private prayer, and meditation on some part of the scriptures.He often told his friends, when they asked him how it was possible for him to go through so much fatigue that it was this which gave him spirit and vigour in the business of the day: this he therefore recommended as the best rule he could give; for nothing, he said, could tend more to the health of the body, than the tranquillity of the mind; and that he knew nothing which could sup. port himself, or his fellow-creatures, amidst the various distresses of life, but a well-grounded confidence in the Supreme Being, upon the principles of christianity, This remark of the doctor's is undeni, ably just; for a benevolent manner of acting, and a true greatness of soul, can never flow from any other source than a consciousness of the divine favour and assistance. This was strongly exemplified in his own illness in 1722, which can hardly be told without horror, and by which the course of his lectures, as well as his practice, was long inter.

rupted. He was for five months confined to his bed by the gout, where he lay upon his back, without daring to attempt the least motion, because any effort renewed his tor ments, which were so exquisite, that he was at length not only de prived of motion but of sense,Here his medical ART was at a stand; nothing could be attempted, because nothing could be proposed with the least prospect of success. But having, in the sixth month of his illness, obtained some remis. sion, he determined to try whether the juice of fumitory, endive, and succory, taken thrice a day in a large quantity, viz. about half a pint each dose, might not contribute to his relief; and by a perseverance in this method, he was wonder. fully recovered. This patience of Boerhaave's was founded not on vain reasonings, like that of which the Stoicks boasted, but on a reli. gious composure of mind, and christian resignation to the will of God.

Of his sagacity, and the wonder. ful penetration with which he often discovered and described, at the first sight of a patient, such distem. pers as betray themselves by no symptoms to common eyes, such sur prizing accounts have been given as scarcely can be credited, though attested beyond all doubt.-Yet this great master of medical knowledge was so far from a presumptuous confidence in his abilities, or from being puffed up by his riches, that he was condescending to all, and remarkably diligent in his profes sion; and he often used to say, that the life of a patient, if trifled with, or neglected, would one day be required at the hand of the physician,He always called the

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poor his best patients; for God, said he, is their pay-master.

The activity of his mind sparkled visibly in his eyes. He was always chearful, and desirous of promoting every valuable end of conversation; and the excellency of the christian religion was frequently the subject of it; for he asserted, on all proper occasions, the divine authority, and sacred efficacy of the scriptures; and maintained, that they only could give peace of mind; that sweet and sacred peace which passeth all understanding; since none can conceive it but he who has it; and none can have it but by divine communication. He never regarded calumny, nor detraction (for Boerhaave himself had enemies), nor ever thought it necessary to confute them. They are sparks (said he) which, if you do not blow, will go out of them selves. The surest remedy against scandal is TO LIVE IT DOWN by a perseverance in well doing, and by praying to God that he would cure the distempered minds of those who traduce and injure us.' An excellent method this; especially as it keeps our minds contented and unruffled, whilst the hearts of our enemies are overflowing with rancour, envy, and other diabolical passions.

He was not to be over-awed or depressed by the presence, frowns, or insolence of great men, but persisted, on all occasions, in doing what was right, regardless of the conse quences. He could, too, with uncommon readiness, and almost to a certainty, make a conjecture of men's inclinations and capacity by their aspect; a sagacity perhaps unequalled, and which often sur. prized even his most intimate ac.

Being once asked by a friend who' had often admired his patience under great provocations, whether he knew what it was to be angry, and by what means he had so entirely suppressed that impetuous and ungovernable passion? Dr. Boerhaave answered with the utmost frankness and sincerity, that he was naturally quick of resentment, but that he had, by daily prayer and meditation, at length attained to this mastery over himself. But this, he said, was the work of God's grace; for he was too sensible of his own weakness to ascribe any thing to himself, or to conceive that he could subdue passion, or withstand temptation by his own natural power: he attributed every good thought, and every laudable action, to the Father of goodness.

To the will of God he paid an absolute submission, without endeavouring to discover the reasons of his unsearchable determinations; and this he accounted the first and most inviolable duty of a christian.

About the middle of the year 1737, he felt the first approaches of that fatal illness which brought him to the grave, viz. a disorder in his breast; which was at times very painful, often threatened him with immediate suffocation, and terminated in an universal dropsy: but during this afflictive and lin. gering illness, his constancy and firmness did not forsake him; he neither intermitted the necessary cares of life, nor forgot the proper preparations of death. About three weeks before his dissolution, when the Rey. Mr. Schultens, one of the

most